Pump Up The Volume - Part II: Talk Hard
by Beejerman
Summary: This story follows the exploits of pirate DJ, Mark Hunter and his girlfriend, Nora Diniro, after the events of the New Line Cinema film. Mark and Nora find that life in the spotlight is not all that it's promised to be when they discover an even more dangerous and subversive DJ on the air who calls himself, The Voice. Will Mark once again become Happy Harry Hard-On? READ/REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1 - The Deal

**Pump Up The Volume - Part II: Talk Hard**

(Disclaimer: This work is based on the 1990 film, "Pump Up The Volume", starring Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. The rights to all characters, previous plot lines and references to that film belong to Allan Moyle and New Line Cinema. The following story is fan fiction and my original work.)

**Chapter 1**

Mark Hunter waited quietly in the visitor's area, his hands cuffed together before him, resting in his lap. He'd been directed to a lone, metal chair in the corner of the room by a uniformed guard and then left to sit in silence. The table before him was bare, devoid of any color, and rested awkwardly on four crooked metal legs. The walls around him were a pale, whitewashed blue. Only one window allowed any sunlight inside, but it was so high above him, that he wouldn't have been able to see outside, even if he was standing. Two, thin fluorescent lights flickered above him. This was a depressing room, Mark thought. Fits the mood perfectly.

Voices on the other side of the closed door caused him to turn his head to the left for a brief moment, but as the voices faded away, he resumed his blank stare at the table. He hadn't been told who was there to visit him, and to be honest, he really didn't care. His parents had already been to the facility to see him a few times. Each time was increasingly incriminating instead of supportive. They wouldn't even provide legal counsel for him. His assigned lawyer had met with him twice as well. He was an older man, probably in his mid-50's, who seemed more concerned about getting home to his sitcoms than he was in helping what he felt to be just another juvenile delinquent. Only he wasn't just _any_ juvenile delinquent. He was an influential one.

As far as he could tell, and it really wasn't too clear to him yet exactly what the charges were, he was being held in custody for his participation in the suicide death of a fellow student in his High School, Malcolm Kaiser. Not because he had been running a pirate radio station for the past 6 months. Yes, Happy Harry was being labeled as a murderer. Mark smiled sadly and shook his head. He never said "don't do it". _Funny_, he thought to himself. _I've always had a witty tongue and knew just what to say. I always knew when not to talk too. But, I couldn't say those three very important words_. His eyes drifted down to the handcuffs around his wrists. He thought of three other important words that he said so often: _So be it_.

What he did know however, was that he could stand to serve a significant amount of time in prison if he was found guilty in perpetrating Malcolm's death, according to his despondent lawyer, Farley. Mark laughed. Farley. He wondered if his first name was Charles. That was the name he put the post office box under. Charles U. Farley. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but what it really boiled down to was that he was a smart ass. It still seemed like a good idea. Farley claimed to have listened to the recordings of that night's broadcast. The night Mark had called Malcolm in response to a letter he had received, in said post office box, asking for his advice. Malcolm wanted to know if he should kill himself. Mark suddenly got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not too dissimilar to the feeling he got when Malcolm hung up on him just as he was beginning to understand that Malcolm's cry for help was genuine. He tried to call back of course, but the phone was off the hook. He realized now that he should have immediately contacted the police, but then his gig would be up. And perhaps Malcolm wasn't so genuine after all. But he was. And now he sat here, cuffed and alone. His father made sure that he understood that anything he might have to endure right now was nothing compared to what Malcolm's family was going through. Mark let out a deep breath. Maybe his father was right.

It seemed that the only person in the world who was concerned about him was the "eat me, beat me lady", Nora Diniro. He found himself strangely attracted to her. She wasn't like other girls. Mark wanted to slap himself for thinking a thought as cliché as that. But, it was true. He'd tried talking to other girls. He even approached Paige Woodward, but something wasn't right. Nora called his bluff and she called it well. She was something most girls weren't. Herself. Like it or not. He was attracted to her before he even met her. Her rough, unpolished words rivaled his own. She knew how to talk hard. _Talk hard_. Those were the last words he said before they were hauled off to jail. He could still hear the cheers of well-meaning teens his age filtering in from the outside, Nora sitting close to him, holding his hand. Her face was alive and her eyes were bright. She leaned into him and kissed him long and hard. Never before had he felt so happy and scared at the same time. After they arrived here, they were separated and he still didn't know what had become of her.

A sharp knock at the door snapped him back to attention. He turned in time to see it open. A man's head poked in from the other side.

"Mr. Hunter? Mark Hunter?" he said.

"The one and only," Mark replied.

The man opened the door the rest of the way and stepped through. He appeared to be in his early 30's with dark brown hair combed back and parted neatly on the left. He wore a clean, dark suit and tie. In his hand was a folder with a string around it. He carried in with him an air of self-assurance and confidence. Realizing there were no other chairs to be seen, he tossed the folder down on the table and quickly exited the room. Mark didn't have to wait long before he reappeared with another chair just like the one he was sitting on. The man closed the door behind him and sat down at the table. He unwound the string and opened the folder.

"Mr. Hunter, we have a problem."

Mark huffed. "No shit".

"Your illegal radio activities have…"

"Just hold up there for a second," Mark interrupted, leaning forward. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't really matter, Mr. Hunter."

"Oh, I think it does matter if you expect me to cooperate with you."

The man smirked and leaned back into his chair. "Frankly, Mr. Hunter, you're in no position to…"

"And if you continue to insist that it doesn't matter," Mark interrupted again, "then I'll be going back to my cell now and you can talk to my lawyer, and _he_ can listen to your bullshit."

The man slowly sat up and his smirk faded away. "Are you always this outspoken?"

"I'm a teenage, pirate radio DJ named Happy Harry Hard-On, accused of being subversive. What do you think?"

Despite himself, the man laughed and relaxed. "You're right. Introductions would be good. My name is Alex Forthright. I'm an ADA, and I've been assigned to your case."

"Forthright?" Mark laughed. "Well, you certainly are that. And you say you're an ADA. What is that…Assistant DA? I must have really stirred up some kind of hornet's nest if the District Attorney's office sent you here to see me. Was Malcolm a relative of the governor or something?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Hunter."

"Just call me, Happy Harry."

Alex smiled. "I think we'll just keep things the way they are, shall we?"

"What do you want Mr. Assistant DA?"

"We need your help."

Mark blinked and his mouth opened slightly. "You need _my_ help?" Inwardly, he smiled. He had a bargaining chip now. For what, he didn't know, but he knew that as long as they needed his help with something, he could compromise. "I'm listening."

"After your capture, dozens of others followed your advice and seized the air. In the last two months since you've been in here, we've actually lost count of how many are broadcasting. You really sparked something, Mr. Hunter. And," Alex paused, "you're something of a legend among your peers in the state of Arizona."

Mark made no effort to hide his self-indulgent smile. "No longer just a legend in my own mind. So, what is it you need my help with? I can't stop them from broadcasting. Why don't you do what they did to me? Contact the FCC and have them get a fix on your _problem_?"

Alex pulled his chair closer and leaned in. "They are already working on it. However, emerging at the top of the list is a DJ who calls himself, _The Voice_ _of Choice_. His broadcasts are not exactly…uplifting."

"What do you mean?"

Alex's face grew taut and he leaned even further in. "This renegade DJ encourages his listeners to," and then lowering his voice, "rebel against any and all authority. To conform to inconformity. To destroy everything around them that causes dependency."

Mark half-smiled. "I'm sorry, Alex, but these are exactly the same things that they said I was doing. And though I might have said to find your own belonging and become your own person, I never once encouraged defiance. He sounds like me."

"Really? Have you ever told your listeners to steal? Have you ever persuaded them to vandalize?" Alex brought his voice down to a near whisper. "Have you ever commanded them to kill?"

Mark felt his body shiver. "No. Never."

"This DJ has. And guess what? His listeners are _listening_."

"Murder?"

"Not yet, thank God. But with the escalated reports of damaged and missing property, we believe that isn't going to be too far around the corner. We need to put the clamps on this guy before something really terrible happens."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You're not with the District Attorney's office, are you? You're not even with the FCC. I suspect you're with the FBI. Tell me I'm wrong."

Alex swallowed hard. "Yes. You're right. Perhaps it would be best if we laid all the cards out on the table. Not much gets by you, does it?"

"Okay, Alex. Why me? Where's the connection to me?"

"The _Voice_ used to be one of your devoted listeners. He's even made reference to some of your past broadcasts. Things you've said, people you've talked to. Like you, he uses a voice disguiser. And like you, he begins his show at 10 pm, on the dot. He moves around a lot. We're not sure if he's mobile while he broadcasts, but he never broadcasts from the same place twice in a row, and his shows are never the same length. We think he might have friends helping him out. He also will not broadcast two nights in row. There may be 2, 3 or sometimes even up to 5 days between his broadcasts. He's very clever," Alex said. Then raising an eyebrow, "Maybe even more clever than you…Happy Harry."

"I can understand your dilemma, but I have no idea what you want me to do about it."

"You are his idol, his inspiration. We need you to get close to him. He would trust you. And then, we need you to turn him in. Before he kills someone," Alex said with finality.

Mark didn't know what to make of this. He wasn't even sure if he could believe it. "I…I'm sorry. But this is all just a little bit much…and besides, I'm technically a minor. Isn't it against the law to ask something like this of me?"

Alex smiled hard. "Not by next Thursday, you won't be. You turn 18. As for the rest of it, listen to this and make up your own mind." Alex reached inside his jacket and produced a small tape player and set it down on the table's surface. "Just listen." He pressed the "play" button.

_"…everybody knows the dice are loaded. We are all pawns of a greater, secret society created to manipulate us into slavery. Slavery to conformity and predetermined futures. We have no voice of our own. No choice but what they give us. That is why I am the Voice. The Voice of Choice…the same voice that echoes deep inside each and every one of you._

_ Listen to your voice. Follow it to its logical conclusion. Break free from your invisible chains and dare to stand against ANYONE who says you can't or you won't. Never again will you be their slave. You are a warrior. A bringer of justice. Decisive justice! _

_ I say, rise up against them and stab them with your plastic forks! Rise up against them and tear away from them all that they hold dear. Death to all hypocrites! Death to authority. Kill them. Kill them before they kill your spirit. Open them up and spill their blood…the dark and polluted blood of anyone who stands in your way. Let their blood flow freely. Only in this way will you ever be free…"_

Alex reached over and stopped the recording. Mark's face had gone pale.

"It gets worse," Alex said softly, studying Mark's reactions.

"That…was not…good," Mark said.

"No. It's not. Did any of that sound familiar to you?"

"A couple of the things he said, yes."

"Which parts?"

"I used to play _Everybody Knows_ by Leonard Cohen at the opening of all my shows. In the song was a lyric that he mentioned at the beginning of your tape, that everybody knows the dice are loaded."

"Anything else?"

Mark straightened himself up in his seat. "I once said that we should all rise up in the cafeterias of our schools and stab our guidance counselors and teachers with plastic forks. He made reference to that in there. But, I swear to you, I never meant to encourage actual murder. I spoke metaphorically. What I was saying was, we need to avoid those who would take advantage of us at this age. To know that we are real people, not just kids. When I was listening to that recording though, he was dark. Ominous. Militant. Far and away from my meaning when I said it."

Alex sat silently for a moment. The he sat upright. "I believe you, Mark."

Mark let out a small breath of relief. "Thank you."

"You can see why we need you now, right?"

"Yes," Mark nodded slowly. "I guess I can."

"He is a real threat. Will you help us?"

"I hate to sound selfish here, but what am I getting in return for my help?"

"The State of Arizona and the parents of Malcolm Kaiser have agreed to drop all charges against you if you help us capture this lunatic. You'll be a free man, with a clean slate. You can start over again fresh. And this time, hopefully, you'll make better decisions with your life."

Mark shifted nervously. This was not going to be so easy. He wasn't even sure what he could do to search this guy out. But a clean slate? Fresh start? It was too good to turn down. Except….

"I'll do it. Only if Nora Diniro is also cleared of all charges and allowed to be free," Mark said.

"Done." Alex stood up and closed his folder. He placed his tape player back into his inner pocket. "I'll get the paperwork started. You'll be released today. Time is of the essence. Your father is aware of the circumstances, and has agreed to cooperate with us in this matter as well. Beyond that, please do not share this information with anybody. _Anybody_. This is completely dependant on secrecy. I cannot stress this enough."

"What about, Nora? She can help me."

"I figured you might say that. She's waiting just outside in the hallway. Why don't you two talk it over and see what she wants to do?"

Alex walked over and placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Remember, this is no small thing we are asking of you. Take it seriously."

Mark solemnly nodded.

Alex turned and exited the room. A guard walked in and removed the handcuffs from him. The guard then turned and left. Mark rubbed his sore wrists. He'd just gotten over the shock of being arrested. And now this. Was this all really happening?

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw movement in the doorway. He turned to see Nora standing there, biting her lip. Her eyes were tearing up. Mark stood up to face her with a nervous smile. Nora returned his smile and walked up to him and held him close, her head nestled into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in a tight embrace. Before he knew it, he was tearing up too.

**to be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2 - Nora

**Pump Up The Volume - Part II: Talk Hard**

(Disclaimer: This work is based on the 1990 film, "Pump Up The Volume", starring Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. The rights to all characters, previous plot lines and references to that film belong to Allan Moyle and New Line Cinema. The following story is fan fiction and my original work.)

**Chapter 2**

"Hard Harry isn't so hard after all," Nora whispered.

Mark moved back a step and looked down at her, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Hard Harry isn't here right now."

"Yes, he is," Nora returned. "I was brought down to this jailhouse with him in the back of the police van only a couple of months ago."

"_Only_ a couple of months?" Mark retaliated. "I'm sorry, but maybe 64 days inside this rusty can may seem inconsequential to you, but to me, it has been an eternity. Do you know that I haven't even had a court date assigned to me yet? I feel like they've tossed me in here and thrown away the key. _Hey_! _Let's celebrate_! _We're finally rid of the horny radio jock_!"

Nora slyly smiled. "Nice to see you again, Harry."

Mark stopped and let out a breath. "No. It's just me. Mark Hunter. Harry has brought me nothing but trouble."

"He brought _me_ to you."

"No, Nora. He brought you to _him_. Not to me."

"You're forgetting something…Mark."

"What?"

"He also brought _you_ to him," Nora said.

Mark smiled awkwardly. "In your off-the-wall logic, that actually makes sense." Mark sat back down in his chair and looked questioningly up at Nora. She wasn't dressed in the same prisoner issued orange-wear that he was. She was wearing black slacks with a purple, button-down top. Her hair had grown out a little since the last time he saw her, almost down to her shoulders. Didn't this girl ever wear blue jeans?

Nora noticed him eyeing her up and down and sat down in the other chair. "You're wondering why I'm dressed like this," she said, reading his mind. "I was released two days after our arrest. Before you get all pissed off at me, hear me out." Nora raised her hand when Mark started to protest.

"Fine," Mark said. He leaned back into his chair and waited.

"You want to know why I haven't come to visit. Why I haven't written. Why I haven't tried to contact you."

"You're brilliant."

Nora shot up out of her chair, her face turning red. "That's the second time you've mocked me! Don't do it again! This has been _hell_ for me too, you know. While you've been sitting in here, I've been the one who's had to deal with the scrutiny of the media, the school and even _your_ parents! So, cut me a little slack."

Mark discovered that he was cowering back into his chair, his eyes wide open. He straightened himself out and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry, Nora. I didn't realize…"

Nora sat back down. "It's okay." She put her elbows on the table and buried her face into the palms of her hands. Sliding her fingers up through her hair, her face emerged again. "I'm sorry too. I know that you were only locked up for what you believed in. We all believed in you. We still do."

Mark nodded again. "So what happened then?"

"I live with my Dad. I've never had my Mom around to raise me like a little girl should be raised. I know that I'm _out there_ and different. People call me a tomboy and that's okay. I paint, I draw…I create. I'm artistic. In everything. Including how I dress…"

Mark shifted in his seat. "Nora…"

"I know, I know. I'm getting to the point," Nora said. "I've inherited my Dad's strength of individuality. Like him, I am outgoing. Sometimes, I can be downright bitchy. When my Dad was informed of my arrest, he was down here first thing, fighting to get me out. I was being held because I was your accomplice. _Accomplice to what_, my Dad asked them. _For driving his Mother's Jeep? Mark was arrested under charges of criminal solicitation in Malcolm's death, and as far as I can see, she had nothing to do with that. He was broadcasting while she was driving. If anything, that is disturbing the peace_. And he was right. He demanded my release, and finally, two days later, they let me go."

"But why didn't you come to see me? To tell me?"

"I did, Mark. I came nearly every day for 3 weeks straight. They wouldn't let me see you. You had such a profound effect on the community, they didn't want _anyone_ seeing you. You're parents were the only ones they would let in. And, of course, you're parents blame me too, so they made sure that I would never be able to get to you either," Nora said. She was leaning forward, a look of earnest concern in her eyes. "Finally, today, they let me in. No word of explanation. Just let me in."

Mark could see she was telling the truth. She reached across the table and extended her hand, palm up. Mark sadly smiled and slowly reached over and took her hand into his own.

"Mark," Nora said, her voice coming down softly. "When they arrested us in front of all my friends, teachers and basically the whole town of Paradise Hills…it was the _proudest_ moment of my life."

Mark's head snapped up and he looked her directly in the eye. She was dead serious. "Mine too. Especially, being with you when it happened. Not just you, but with all of them. All of the listeners who showed up there that night. Everyone who believed. I wish I could thank them all somehow."

Nora smiled. "You will."

Nora stood up and walked over to Mark and sat on his lap, draping her arms over his shoulders. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. He could feel her breathe into his mouth. He reached around her and held her close, kissing her back. He felt her smile. She leaned back, smiling at him. He smiled in return, and then he stopped and raised an eyebrow.

"Was I kissing the _eat me, beat me lady_, or Nora?"

"I don't know," she replied. "It depends. Was I kissing Happy Harry Hard-On, or Mark?"

Mark laughed. "Mark."

Nora leaned in. "Then you were kissing Nora."

"Good."

"So," Nora chided, "did you have any problems with any of the inmates? Did they make fun of your cock ring?" Nora laughed.

There was a sharp knock at the door. They both turned to see it open and Alex stepped inside. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but your father is here, Mark. He is waiting for you."

"Tell him to wait for me a bit longer," Mark said. "There are still a few things I need to discuss with Nora first."

"Okay." Alex walked over to the table and set down a few papers and a pen. "You'll need to read and sign these as well. This needs to be done before we can let you go. It's your release and personal belongings forms. It's also our agreement in writing. I'll be back to collect you in about 20 minutes."

Alex turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Nora looked at Mark. "That's why I'm here then? You've reached an agreement?"

"Yeah. That's what I need to talk to you about."

Nora stood and resumed her place in the other chair. "What did you agree to, Mark?"

"Have you heard of another pirate DJ who calls himself, _The Voice_?"

"I've heard of him," Nora answered. "But, I've got to be honest with you. Ever since you left the air, I haven't listened to a whole lot of radio, know what I mean?"

"Apparently, he is instructing his listeners to kill anyone in authority. To spill their blood," Mark continued. "Alex played me a recording of his show. It was scary stuff."

Nora's face clouded over. "I don't think I like where this is heading, Mark."

"Well…just hear me out. They have noticed a stiff increase in vandalism and destruction of property, as well as theft since he's hit the airwaves. They are afraid that one of his listeners is going to follow through on his suggestion and actually kill somebody," Mark explained. "They haven't been able to get a fix on this guy, and they've tried. Nobody is talking. He poses a real threat. Even worse than when I was broadcasting."

"You never told anyone to do those things."

"That's what I said, but still, here I am, right? Malcolm could very well be dead because of me."

"That's utter bullshit, and you know it! Don't you _even_ blame yourself for his choice!"

"I never told him not to do it."

"You're missing the point here, Mark. You didn't _encourage_ him to do it, and that is what they say you've done."

Mark stopped and thought about that. He'd never thought of it that way before. "You're right." He smiled weakly. "You're absolutely right."

"And…"

"And what?"

"You we're saying? About this other DJ?"

"Oh, right. They've offered me a deal. All charges will be dropped if I do my best to discover his identity and turn him over to the authorities."

Nora frowned. "That's what I thought you were going to say."

"I thought you'd be happy about this."

"Happy? No. Not happy. Disgusted! I'm disgusted."

"I don't understand. I'm getting out of jail, Nora. All charges are being dropped. I have a clean slate now," Mark stressed.

"After all you've accomplished? You want to just wipe it all away? And for what? To go after someone who is only doing what _you_ told them to do?"

"It's not the same thing…"

"Sure it is." Nora stood up. "That's what they accused you of! After all your words of how the healing begins with us. Of finding your own voice…seizing the air, securing it. Wanting to hear a thousand voices cry out in the wilderness! Are you telling me it was all a fucking lie? That those were empty promises? And now, you're going to sell out. You're going to betray everyone who ever put their faith in you, Mark. You're going to betray yourself."

"He's dangerous, Nora. If you could have heard the recording…"

Nora slammed her hand down on the table. The loud "_WHACK!" _caught Mark by surprise. "We're all dangerous," Nora said. "And, we're all held accountable for our own actions. They want you to get this guy for something he hasn't even _done_. Wake up, Mark!"

Mark let out a sharp breath. He had lost his patience. "So you _want_ me to sit here and rot away in jail! Is that it? You like the thought of me in here? I thought we had something special, you and me. But I guess I was wrong. You must be nuts!"

Tears welled up in Nora's eyes and her face flushed red. She lowered her head and her shoulders shook. "You make me nuts," she whispered. "I have to go." Nora turned, opened the door and disappeared into the hallway on the other side. The door closed with a resounding click that echoed in the empty room.

Mark shook his head in disbelief. He didn't understand what had just happened. He made his way over to the table and the papers that waited for him there. He picked up the pen. He thought about what Nora had told him. Was he making a mistake? After a few moments, he let out a deep breath. He signed the papers.

As good as his word, Alex was back within the 2o minutes, and satisfied that the documents had Mark's signature on them, they processed his release. He was given back his clothes and other personal items that he had upon his arrest and then he was brought out to the main entrance.

"This is my beeper number," Alex said, handing over a business card. "Keep this on you at all times. Don't lose it. Check in with me regularly. We need to know your progress. Remember, you're working for us now. If we think you aren't doing what you've agreed to, right back in you go, understood?"

Mark nodded.

"Then you better be convincing when you report in," Alex said.

"Understood."

"Your father will meet you outside. He's been waiting."

Alex extended his hand and smiled. Mark accepted and shook his hand.

"Good luck, Mark."

"Thank you, Alex."

Alex turned and walked back inside leaving Mark alone. Mark took a minute to steady himself. He took a deep breath and opened the main entrance doors and walked out into the sunlight. Sitting on a bench at the bottom of the stone steps was Brian Hunter, his father. Brian looked up.

"Hi, Dad," Mark said.

Brian said nothing.

"So be it," Mark said under his breath and walked down the steps.

**to be continued…**


	3. Chapter 3 - Home

**Pump Up The Volume - Part II: Talk Hard**

(Disclaimer: This work is based on the 1990 film, "Pump Up The Volume", starring Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. The rights to all characters, previous plot lines and references to that film belong to Allan Moyle and New Line Cinema. The following story is fan fiction and my original work.)

**Chapter 3**

As Mark and his father slowly walked into the parking lot, Mark could sense his father's apprehension.

"We should have never moved here," Brian said.

Mark turned to look at him, but his father kept his face low and facing forward.

"You were happy and doing well in school back East," Brian continued. "You were getting good grades. You had friends. You stayed out of trouble. You _never_ would have done _anything_ like this back there."

"Dad…"

"Quiet, Mark. I'm not done." Brian let out a long, deep breath. "I don't blame you, Son. Your mother and I, we uprooted you and moved you here without asking for your opinion. We took you out of your comfort zone and then expected you to fit right into your new surroundings. We knew there would be some time needed to adjust…although, I hardly expected my own son to become a national phenom called Happy Harry Hard-On!"

Mark said nothing. He quietly listened, watching his own shoes as he walked alongside his father. Not another word passed between them until they got into the car and closed the doors. Mark reached behind him and secured his seatbelt into place and slouched sullenly against his door. Brian reached over and placed the key into the ignition. He went to start the car, but then he stopped and leaned back into his own seat, and looked out his window.

"I have spoken with Agent Forthright, Mark. I know what is going on. I know you agreed to help them find this Voice character. In some small way, it seems that a little good has come out of this debacle if that is what you truly intend to do. I was hesitant to believe that what your mother and I have decided was the right thing to do, but now, I believe with all my heart it is."

Mark looked over at his father. "What do you mean _decided_ to do?"

Brian finally turned to look his son in the eyes. "With everything that has transpired over the past two months, we've had to make some hard decisions. I lost my job. I was deemed unfit to preside as a school commissioner when my own son was out of control."

"That's complete bullshit, Dad, and you know it."

"You were using documents entrusted to my care in your broadcasts, Mark! Documents that contained extremely sensitive issues!" Brian said. "You used my ledgers to find phone numbers and then you phoned David Deaver and called him _slime _over the air!"

Mark hung his head. Brian sighed and looked back out the window.

After a moment, in a calmer tone of voice, he said, "I listened to a recording of the night you spoke to Malcolm Kaiser. I don't believe a word of what they have accused you of, Mark. I heard nothing in there that led me to believe you solicited his suicide."

Mark looked up in surprise. "Thank you, Dad."

"Your mother and I have decided to move back East."

"What? Why?"

"There's nothing here for us. I've lost my job. She can't find gainful employment now. This entire Arizona experience has been nothing but misery for us since we moved here. We're going back home."

"I can't go, Dad. I promised Alex that I would help them catch this guy. It was the condition of my release. If I skip town, they'll just throw me right back behind bars."

"I know," Brian said. "You will stay here. You'll be 18 on Thursday. Until we've sold the house, you are welcome to continue living there. We'll keep all utilities paid for as long as you're there, and we've set up a bank account for you so that you won't starve either. Your Mom left her Jeep behind for you to use, but you must get a driver's license first. I would make that a priority. You don't have a diploma yet, so finding full time work will be hard. It's doubtful that H.H.H. High or _any_ High School will enroll you, so you will probably have to work on your own to get a G.E.D."

"You mean, I'm going to be here…alone?"

"It's better that than in jail. Your mother has already gone back. She is waiting for me there. We'll be staying with her parents until we get our own place again. Mark," Brian paused and looked back at his son, "you've always been an independent one. You'll be okay. You'll be 18 soon. A young man. You hid inside your shell when we moved here during the day. But at night, it's like you changed. Almost like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You climbed out of your shell and looked what has happened. If it happens again, we can't be around for that. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Let's go." Brian reached forward, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive back was almost unbearably silent. Almost. Mark couldn't believe everything that happened since Malcolm's suicide. He had a hard time believing all that had changed because of his arrest. His parents were going to tuck their tails between their legs and go whimpering back to the pound they had so proudly left only 6 months ago. They had truly sold out. They had given up. But wasn't that what he had just done when he signed his release papers? Wasn't that why Nora was pissed at him? Was he any better than his parents?

They passed the post office where he used to collect his letters. Damn, how he looked forward to receiving those red letters! He loved reading the black print on those red pages from the _eat me, beat me lady_. Nora. His thoughts went right back to her. If only he could explain to her why he needed to do this.

Finally, they arrived to the house and Brian switched off the car. He pulled the keys from the ignition and then he slowly removed the car key from the ring and handed the rest of the keys over to Mark. "These are yours now. The house keys, and keys to the Jeep. Remember, you aren't allowed to drive the Jeep until you've gotten a driver's license. You are insured under your Mother's policy." Without another word, Brian left the car and shut the door behind him.

Mark emerged from his side of the car holding his bag of belongings close to his chest. He walked around to the front of the house and stopped. It looked and felt _so_ different from the last time he was here. Then he realized it wasn't the house that had changed, it was him. He only hoped he hadn't changed too much. The last thing he wanted was to be disappointed in himself. If it ever came to that, he may as well be Malcolm Kaiser.

Mark walked inside and made his way over to the door which opened to the stairs going down into his basement room. He hesitated and then slowly opened it and walked down the steps. His jaw dropped when he entered his once cluttered room. Most of it had been cleared away. Only the makeshift wooden table all of his equipment used to be on, and the long couch remained. Even all the posters and neon signs had been removed. Wadded pieces of paper were curled up on the floor here and there. The police did their job well. They left no leaf unturned. He threw his bag down on to the couch and then he slumped down into the cushions next to it. He was finally home. He fell over to his side and brought his feet up and closed his eyes. Happy Harry Hard-On had hit dead bottom.

The next time he opened his eyes, the entire room was shrouded in darkness. He sleepily looked at his watch. It was already almost 11 pm. He stretched and then stood to his feet and moved through the darkness to the stairs and headed up. He found his way to the fridge and grabbed some lunch meat, miracle whip and cheese and made himself a sandwich. He poured himself a cold glass of milk, passing on his customary Diet Cherry Pepsi. Moving over to the dining table, he pulled up a chair and turned on the TV. The 11 O'clock News program was just starting. A familiar face was on the news.

"This is Shep Sheppard reporting live from Paradise Hills Plaza with the latest development in ongoing pirate DJ dilemma in this once peaceful town. First, it was Mark Hunter who called himself Happy Harry."

Mark's jaw dropped as he saw a video playback of he and Nora being arrested. He watched as he turned and said to everyone, moments before being hauled off to jail, "Talk Hard!"

"And talk hard is what our newest pirate DJ is doing. Known as The Voice of Choice, or simply just The Voice, he has caused even more whirlwinds of chaos than Happy Harry ever did. Is he merely filling a void left by Harry? Or is he truly as influential or more than Harry was? Why don't we ask these young ladies over here. Excuse me, Miss? Miss? Can you come here for just a minute?"

Shep walked over to his right to where two teenage girls were walking down a sidewalk. Skittish at first, the two were hesitant to stop but then they finally did and turned to face the polished news reporter.

"Are we on TV?" the first girl asked excitedly.

"Yes, you are! I'm Shep Sheppard with KSFBTV Channel 16 News and I just wanted to briefly ask you two a couple of questions. Have you heard of the DJ who calls himself The Voice?"

"Of course!" the same girl answered. Her friend smiled and nodded in agreement. "He's a little dark, but he plays great music."

"You don't find him dangerous or scary at all?"

"No, why should we? He's against the system. He's all for independence and self expression. The only real danger is becoming another boring drone with no purpose in life."

"What about his words to kill and spill blood? You don't find that to be a red flag?"

"Oh, come on, man," the second girl said. "Nobody believes that's real."

"Well, there you have it," Shep continued, facing the camera. "Out of the mouths of your very own children, Paradise Hills. You can see how naïve and ignorant they can be, even in the face of overwhelming evidence that points to the contrary."

"What?" the first girl said, her face contorted in anger. "Ignorant? Fuck _you_, Shep!"

"Why don't you stick that microphone up your ass?" the second girl said.

"_All_ the way up in there!" the first girl said.

Laughing, they both walked off.

"This is Shep Sheppard, signing off," Shep said, his face turning red. "Good night, Paradise Hills."

Mark shook his head and turned the TV off.

Maybe the girls were right. Maybe it really wasn't as bad as it sounded. But something deep inside told him that he knew better. He heard the recording. No, he decided. It _was_ as bad as it sounded. The Voice _was_ a real threat. And it was _his_ job to find him before something did happen.


End file.
